


a clouded mind and a heavy heart (but I was sure we could see a new start)

by wagamiller



Category: The Crimson Field
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:53:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wagamiller/pseuds/wagamiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“The three of you sound nice together.”</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Well, it’s a nice tune,” she says, still gazing into the distance. Her lips quirk suddenly. “Although to be clear, I wasn’t asking you to dance to it.”</i> </p><p>A conversation after the concert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a clouded mind and a heavy heart (but I was sure we could see a new start)

**Author's Note:**

> Title hastily pulled from Hopeless Wanderer by Mumford and Sons, because I forgot to think of one.
> 
> I've fallen in love with this show and this pairing, so fic was pretty much inevitable. This is probably a lot less fraught that anything we'll ever get in the show but after episode 5 I just needed them to have an actual conversation for once! Hopefully it'll tide someone over until the finale :)
> 
> (Just a side note on names - I've gone with Tom over Thomas here since Miles and now Kitty have both referred to him as Tom in the show.)

 

He steps outside at the very end of the song, heading off the boards and onto the muddy ground around the side of the tent. The applause carries through the canvas, followed by muffled cheers, a couple of whistles and a voice that sounds a lot like Miles calling for an encore. 

The concert’s officially over but someone strikes up a cheerful new tune on the piano and what must be most of the audience join in. It sounds nice from outside, tuneless singers filtered out by the canvas and the distance so all that reaches him is lively voices in unison. 

He hovers where he stands, fiddling with a cigarette but not lighting it. He knows he should go somewhere, back inside if he’s brave and off to the wards if he’s not. Instead he stays, dwelling on her face and feeling as unsteady as the ground under his feet. 

The way she’d smiled at him, half a promise in her eyes, had undone everything. The understanding he’d cobbled together about her rejection had fallen apart in an instant, that one hopeful glance like a symptom that changed the whole diagnosis. And so he’d fled, heading out here for some air, or a smoke, or really if he’s honest, because he couldn’t bear to stand there and look at her and not understand.

When the song finishes, light footsteps on the boards announce an exit from the tent. He starts to head back to join the throng but there are no more footsteps, no scraping of chairs as the men depart. Instead another tune starts up from inside and he finds himself turning to face the end of the tent as a shadowed face peeks around the side.

Even in the weak lamplight, he recognises Kitty instantly.

His heart jumps into his throat because he knows that she’s looking for him. He just doesn’t know what that means.

For one cowardly moment he wants to shrink back against the side of the tent out of sight. Instead he squares his shoulders and stands there, looking back at her. 

She treads lightly over the boards towards him, carefully stepping off them and into the mud beside him without a word. They stand shoulder to shoulder for a while, watching the sky above the woods for the flare of light that follows explosions at the distant Front.

“What did you think?” she asks, eventually.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her jerk her head back towards the tent, where the singing still goes on.

“Very good,” he says, turning to look at her properly. “The three of you sound nice together.”

Her profile is elegant in the fading light, her chin held determinedly high. 

“Well, it’s a nice tune,” she says, still gazing into the distance. Her lips quirk suddenly. “Although to be clear, I wasn’t asking you to dance to it.”

He gapes at her but she still doesn’t turn, keeping her eyes to the front and smiling slightly to herself.

It’s not the first time she’s done this, reformed his hasty words into nothing more than a teasing rebuke. It loosens something inside him to hear it, forgiveness wrapped up in the insult itself. 

It’s kinder than he deserves.

“I’m sorry, Kitty.”  It slips out without effort; the word’s been dancing on his tongue all day. 

That draws her gaze to him. Her dark eyes are blown wide, her mouth a perfect ‘oh’ of surprise. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t an apology. A sudden burst of shame makes him drop his eyes from hers.

“You said no,” he ploughs on, speaking to his boots now. “I understand that.”

Kitty sighs beside him, soft and low. He breathes out with her, pulling his eyes up from the floor and back to her face. All traces of surprise are gone and in their place is a look of such staggering fondness that he barely feels worthy of it. 

“I didn’t want to say no,” she says, her voice tiny. 

The words are almost lost amongst the singing, but he catches them and hope flares in his chest.

“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” she adds, with a little huff of laughter.

“Better,” he answers instantly. 

She laughs again at his eagerness. The sound is warmer than anything he’s heard from her before. 

Her eyes flit to his lips, only for a second but long enough to make him bold enough to ask the obvious question.

“Why did you say no?” 

“I told you,” she says wearily. “I don’t want to get sent home.” 

It’s the answer she’s given before but there’s something missing in her voice now, almost as if she’s reciting a line from a script. It pulls him up short and for the second time that night he is seized by the sudden awareness that there’s more going on than he understands.

But it’s so fragile, this moment, it could be over at any second. He’s almost too scared to speak, to push, or offend, or do anything at all that that might make her stop standing beside him here in the dark. 

But he has to ask.

“Is that the only reason?”

Kitty is quiet for a very long time, long enough that he’s on the verge of apologising, ready to agree that she doesn’t need another reason, the risk is enough.

But then she answers him, in a voice that cracks and wavers. 

“No, Tom. It’s not the only reason.”

She turns her face away from him, trembling and trying not to show it. He can see the effort it’s taken to admit this, obvious in the tension that’s humming through her body, the speed of the rise and fall of her chest, the way she won’t meet his eyes anymore.

He allows her a moment, forcing himself to mirror her posture in looking out to the middle distance. It takes all his composure to stand there beside her while she shakes and not reach for her.  

“Would you tell me?” he asks after a moment, his mind swirling with possibilities. “The other reason?”

“I can’t.” Her answer is a gasp, her tears barely contained.

He opens his mouth to argue, hasty words ready to fly out. He stops himself at the last second, pushing his own impatience away in a flash of horror when he sees that she is flinching beside him.

Whatever it is, she’s frightened of it. The idea lands heavy in his mind, but he recognises the truth of it right away. He balls his hands into fists at his sides and when he can’t stand it anymore, he reaches across the tiny gap between them and brushes the back of his hand against hers.

She jumps in surprise but doesn’t pull her hand away. In fact she flexes her fingers slightly, as if unfolding them for his hand. That little gesture is enough, it’s her permission to be brave. And so he reaches out and wraps his warm hand around her cool one. His heart is hammering in his chest, but she is calm from the moment he takes her hand, all tension draining from her.

“If I tell you why I wouldn’t let you kiss me,” she begins, her voice a low murmur of regret, “then I think ... you wouldn’t want to kiss me anymore.”

“Kitty.” Her name falls softly from his lips. “Please look at me.”

And at last, she does.  

In the fading lamplight, all he sees is over-bright eyes, wistful. And then suddenly there is more, fear and regret and warmth and longing, unmistakeable. Not quite an open book but a contents page, the chapter titles of a story waiting to be told.  

She is so much more than beautiful.

The words trip off his tongue before he can censor them.

“I can’t imagine what could make me not want you.”

It’s possibly the least proper thing he’s ever said to a lady. He drops her hand, bracing himself for a sharp intake of breath, or a slap, or the sudden absence of warmth at his side as she walks away.

Instead she laughs, throaty and low.  

Dizzy with relief, he laughs with her.

“You don’t really know me,” she points out, coming back to the argument at hand. Though the topic is the same, there’s a lightness in her tone that wasn’t there before. All her sharp edges and fraught silences are gone, blown away by her laughter.

She’s right, of course. He doesn’t really know her. Their acquaintance is snatches of conversation over broken bodies, moments of light among the horror. Pauses in doorways and store cupboards, glances across crowded rooms. Always one of them walking away.  

“You don’t know me either,” he counters, realising the truth of it. 

“I’m–”  

He pauses, trying to find the words to explain. 

“I’m not ... good, with people,” he goes on, awkwardly. “I can be harsh. And I always say the wrong thing.” He huffs a laugh, remembering that she does know that last flaw at least, quite well enough. “Miles says I’m alright with people once they’re unconscious, but that’s about it.” 

Kitty throws a sceptical look his way, frowning at the ease in which he rattled off his flaws. 

“You’re kind,” she insists, “when you think no-one’s looking.” 

Miles said something similar once, but he’d brushed it off with a shrug.

But if she thinks so too, it can only mean one thing. 

She’s been looking.  

Warmth floods his cheeks and he vaguely wonders if the dim light will disguise it.

“So,” he says slowly, warming to the counter argument that’s just occurred to him. “You can think the best of me but I can’t think the best of you, is that it?”

Another song finishes inside the tent and the applause that drifts out to them is perfectly timed, as though in approval for his arguments. 

He smiles at her, raising his eyebrows in challenge. 

Kitty throws an annoyed look back at him but there’s no real irritation in it. She opens her mouth to argue, closes it again, apparently not sure what to say.

“I wish you’d just tell me what it is,” he says, gentle as possible. “Just think about it, please,” he goes on, pressing his advantage quickly as the sounds of movement inside the tent tell him that they won’t be alone much longer.

“I am,” she admits, quickly. “I do. I will.” 

The last is a hurried promise, but it’s the best he could have hoped for.

Voices spill out at the front of the tent as the crowd departs, their impromptu singing at an end.

Tom steps back onto the boards to join them, expecting her to follow.

But Kitty stays where she is, her head cocked to the side as if waiting for something. She flicks her eyes to the muddy ground at her feet and then back to him, her eyebrows slightly raised.

Understanding dawns.

He offers her his hand.

She reaches out and slips her hand into his waiting palm, just as she had once refused to do.

He holds her steady as she steps off the muddy ground and onto the wooden boards. She passes in front of him, not letting go of his hand as he moves awkwardly to give way on the thin wooden planks.

She’s so close he could close the gap between them with just an intake of breath. 

He doesn’t. 

He lets go of her hand with a feeling of _not yet,_ rather than _not ever_. And for tonight, that will have to be enough.

“Goodnight, Captain Gillan,” she says, making to walk away. 

The reversion to formal titles is teasing and warm, nothing like his harshness in the operating theatre. There she goes again, turning the tables on him so easily.

“Goodnight, Kitty,” he calls after her, emphasising her name.

She flashes him an approving smile over her shoulder before she rounds the corner and disappears among the crowd.


End file.
